


Hand of Champions

by Michelle_A_Emerlind



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: And Daryl is a ringer, Betting, First BJ, First Kiss, First Time, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Poker, Rick has bad luck at poker, blowjob, prison fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:29:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/pseuds/Michelle_A_Emerlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During poker, a friendly little bet arises that Daryl is absolutely sure Rick will never do. Funny thing is, though, that Rick shows up in his bedroom later that night ready to perform.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hand of Champions

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm working on a longer fic right now (novel length Rickyl), but I realized it's been awhile since I posted anything! So here's a little one-shot about poker (everyone has to have a poker fic, right?).

It all came down to a perfect battle of stubbornness. Granted, Daryl should have really seen the end coming from the very first Four of a Kind he slapped down on the table that night and the observation of Rick’s pursed lips and red face. Rick was on the _war path_ , and that was okay. Every once in awhile, a guy had to think he was good at poker. It was nestled down in their DNA right next to the “Ys” and the testosterone. So Daryl really didn’t think anything of it and kept playing his usual cocky game.

Of course, the Straight, Full House, and Two Pair next to Rick’s One Pair didn’t seem to really lighten up the guy’s mood any and so by round number five, the whole table was cowering under Rick’s cocked out elbows perched on the table and his head low as he stared intensely at his cards. Daryl would have thought it was kind of funny, actually--kind of sitcom laugh track esqe, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Rick’s handy-dandy red-handled machete was two feet away.

That and the fact that Daryl was distracted by Rick’s tongue. He realized belatedly that Rick did this little thing with it when he concentrated on his cards--a lick-the-lips then leave it at the corner of his mouth kind of thing and that was kind of adorable, not that Daryl would ever in a hundred years admit to that thought, just like he’d never admit to the thought that occasionally he checked out Rick’s ass with the binoculars in the watch tower. But that was neither here nor there. What was here and there, was that Daryl had a phenomenal hand this round and he was pretty sure if he laid down his cards, Rick would explode into a million pieces of angry little confetti. So when the rest of the table had folded under the absolute pressure of Rick’s agonizing glare, Daryl just grunted and called.

Rick slapped his hand down and Daryl stared at the dirty and worn out nine of spades next to the eight, seven, six, five--Straight Flush. Rick was grinning like a madman in Daryl’s direction and Daryl put on his very, very best poker face and just shrugged nonchalantly. “Got me that time, buddy,” he said, casting his cards face down.

Rick’s grin spread out evilly and he started collecting the little scraps of paper with people’s names and favors--Michonne giving up her bag of M&Ms, Maggie agreeing to cook a meal, Hershel agreeing to clean out the person’s cell. And then he paused, as if catching on and Daryl’s blood pounded in his veins. _Just let it go_ , he thought, but no. Rick was staring at Daryl’s cards, still face down, and then after a very significant pause, he reached.

Daryl slapped his hand down on the back of the once-red, now-pink card backs and arched an eyebrow at Rick. Rick arched an eyebrow back and that was it. The tension was in the room, testosterone so thick Daryl could practically taste it. It was a goddamn standoff. High noon, motherfuckers.

“Let me see your cards,” Rick demanded.

“Hell no,” Daryl responded.

“Why?” Rick growled.

“Don’t gotta explain nothing,” Daryl snapped.

Rick’s eyes fled into little bitty slits and he pointed down at Daryl’s hand. “Did you _let me win_?”

Glenn cast a worried glance between the two of them and Maggie put a hand over her mouth, watching with glee.

Daryl scoffed, letting the air of out his lungs in a _psh_ sound that went on a lot longer than it should.

Rick waggled his finger. “Show me the cards, Daryl.”

“Uh huh.”

“Show me the cards, _Daryl_.”

“Fuck you.”

“Give me, those!” Rick reached for them, but Daryl’s hands were stronger, even if Rick’s thumb was all kinds of twist and wriggly. Eventually, Daryl ripped the cards from Rick’s grasp and held them back over his shoulder, away from Rick. Rick let out an exasperated grunt. “I had the best hand in the game,” he ground out.

Daryl rolled his eyes. “ _Second best_.” Rick tried to lunge again, but Daryl was fast and nasty, twisting out of his grip. Carol shifted restlessly, as if not sure if she should intervene and Michonne took the time to roll her eyes all the way from California to New York.

“You wanna see that bad?” Daryl asked Rick, who was now halfway over the table, his hands like grabby little sticky toddler’s fingers.

“YES!” Rick exclaimed. “You did NOT beat me. Did you? SHOW ME.”

Daryl lifted his chin in defiance. “Whatcha gonna give me?” he asked easily.

Rick blinked. “What?”

“Whatcha gonna give me? For showing you. What do I get?”

“My respect,” Rick said easily, his pretty blue eyes flashing as big as the ocean.

“Nah,” Daryl said, wrinkling his nose. “Already got that shit by the bucket.”

Rick frowned, but didn’t argue the point. He tapped his fingers on the table. “Wash your laundry next week.”

Daryl gave a little shrug. “Got Carol to wash it for me.”

Carol slapped him across the arm good-naturedly and rolled her eyes at Rick. Rick thought some more. “Skin the next deer you bring back?”

“Need it skinned, not butchered,” Daryl said easily.

“Sharpen your knife?”

“Plenty sharp.”

“Make arrows for you?”

“You suck at that.”

“Take over your guard shift?”

“But I like them.”

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?” Rick burst out, his eyes on the cards like he was a rottweiler and they were a T-bone.

Daryl took a moment to think. What _did_ he want? Rick was sitting over on the other side of the table, mouth open and pretty little teeth all lined up in a row and even though his artful stubble _had_ gone a little mountain-man, Daryl could think of lots of things to do with those lips. Lots of nice things indeed and hadn’t it been such a long time since anyone had got that close to him for anything other than “protect me from the Walker herd”?

And besides, a request like that would just piss Rick the fuck off. And he would never in a million years do it and so Daryl would win and let’s face it, that’s what this was all about right now. _Winning_. So Daryl just let a tiny, slow-building smile go and reached for a scrap piece of paper. He wrote quickly, but firmly-- “BJ. Don’t get it stuck in your beard.”--and pushed it across the table at Rick menacingly.

Rick watched the paper, his eyes glued to it like water on a fish. Daryl waited just a beat, his fingers pressing it into the wood and then slowly released and took back his hand. Michonne arched her eyebrows and Maggie whistled dangerously low. “This is _intense_ ,” she whispered to Glenn, “better than _Law and Order_.”

Rick snatched the paper up and tore it open, his eyes soaking in the writing. He went pale, the color draining from his face like liquid in a sieve. Daryl smirked. To the victor go the spoils.

But then Rick cleared his throat loudly for all to hear and slapped the paper down, his palm covering up the wording so no one else could see. “You’re on,” he said. “Show me the cards. If you won, I’ll do it.”

Daryl arched an eyebrow so sky high, it probably touched heaven. “Are you _serious_?”

Rick shrugged defiantly and waved at the cards. “Come on. Now. Show me.”

Daryl figured it was rude to keep a man waiting. Especially after he was putting so much on the line and would lose so absolutely terribly. So he just shrugged and started to lay the cards out one at a time, face up. Ten. Jack. Queen--Rick’s jaw got tighter and tighter, his eyes narrower and narrower--King...Ace. “Royal Flush,” Daryl said absolutely needlessly, only feeling the burning desire to clarify so he could watch Rick’s eyelid twitch in unhappiness. He smirked so hard that the Walkers outside were probably dying off from the intensity of the blast.

Rick let out a little “hmmm” noise straight through his nose and stood, nearly toppling his chair in the process. “ _Well_ ,” he said, turning to leave, “aren’t you a fucking _dickbag_.” And with that, he stomped out of the room, stubbornness, arrogance, tiny paper and all.

***

There was absolutely no reason not to go to sleep that night because Daryl was as sure as there were ticks on cats that Rick wasn’t going to come down and give him what he secretly wanted. So when it got close to midnight and he felt deft hands on his belt, tugging it apart, he reacted as anyone in the apocalypse would. He punched.

It was just a really good thing that Rick’s lightning fast reflexes rivaled Daryl’s own. “ _Jesus_ ,” both men exclaimed for entirely different reasons.

Daryl blinked, sitting up. “The _fuck_ are you doing here?” he asked and Rick rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious.

“Well, I washed my beard,” he said as if in answer and even in the darkness, Daryl was pretty sure Rick could see his fire-engine red cheeks.

“You don’t _have_ to--”

“--Man of my word--”

“--just messing with--”

“--ain’t a coward--”

“--not like--”

“--shut up--”

“--okay--”

And then Rick’s fingers were back on his belt and despite the fact that he told his dick _no, bad, down Rover, down_ , it seemed to be going, well, _up_ , and then Rick’s hands were inside his pants and his fingers were on Daryl’s hardening cock and then he was pulling it out and damn was there was too much spit, but it felt good and Daryl couldn’t really give a fuck right now because Rick’s mouth was wet and he was sucking his cheeks in to make it tight.

Daryl quickly evaluated Rick’s dick-smoking-skill-level and found it to be just about as good as his poker level--almost technically sound, but not quite. But still, A++ for effort and Daryl moaned as Rick’s tongue teased at the slit. He threw his head back and closed his eyes at the same time that his hand made it into Rick’s curls and he dug in just slightly until he pulled a small little moan from Rick’s mouth. And boy did that moan do other things to Daryl’s body, namely make it twitch and buck and tense in all the good kind of ways and, encouraged by that, Rick started bobbing his head rougher, faster, and if he really didn’t want to have Daryl coming straight down his throat, he should damn well say something right now.

“Ain’t gonna be much longer,” Daryl ground out in a moan and in response, Rick squeezed his balls gently, rolling them around in his hand. He glanced up at Daryl, his eyes dark and color-washed in the light, but Daryl could see them in his mind, robin egg blue, and the thought of Rick Grimes looking at him like that, the thought of Rick Grimes putting his tongue to good use, Rick Grimes swallowing him down like this was the fucking dick-licking poker championships and he’d just anted up, sent him straight over the edge into an avalanche of sensory explosion and emotion that just happened to end with himself splashing the back of Rick’s mouth.

Daryl kept his eyes open the whole time and Rick kept his eyes on Daryl, too, never missing a beat. And then, when Daryl was done, Rick let his cock go with a little pop and lifted his chin so Daryl could watch his throat swallow. Daryl groaned and realized that despite everything, High Noon was still going on and even though Daryl had fired first, Rick got the kill shot.

Rick grinned at his success and leaned up on his knees, scooting forward between Daryl’s thighs. “Man of my word,” he said, a grin on his face as big as Texas. He reached up and touched Daryl’s jawline lightly, let his fingers run over the racing pulse in Daryl’s neck. Daryl blinked down at him, totally lost in the best way possible and smiled.

“Return favor?” Daryl asked, glancing down at Rick’s straining pants.

Rick snorted and shook his head. “Got to lose first,” he said, leaning forward and up, pressing his lips still stained with the taste of Daryl to Daryl’s mouth. Daryl groaned hard and lept forward, crushing his mouth to Rick’s and sliding his tongue in as fast as a chupacabra. Rick moaned around Daryl’s tongue and pressed his chest to Daryl’s body, shivering under Daryl’s touch.

Daryl smiled as he licked his way out of Rick’s mouth. “You ain’t seen _nothin_ ’ yet,” he said, promising to himself that every day from now until the end of eternity he would focus all his efforts on losing to one Rick Grimes. Because the world had just been flipped upside down and _losing_ suddenly meant _winning_ in the best possible way and Daryl was going to be a purple gorilla fucker on Mars if he let that bastard win against him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Links:  
> [MAE's Rickyl Fics and Recs](http://maerickyl.tumblr.com/): Where you can find a list of my fanfic, fanfic recs, and snippets of works in progress.  
> [Michelle A. Emerlind](http://michelleaemerlind.tumblr.com/): My general tumblr where I put stuff? And things? And just whatever I want.


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